


Mulberry

by WhereTheRoadsMeet



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Blow Jobs, Edgeplay, First Time, Freebatch - Freeform, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Non-monogamous Relationship, Shower Sex, mentions of Amanda and Sophie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-14 18:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11213949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereTheRoadsMeet/pseuds/WhereTheRoadsMeet
Summary: Martin and Benedict's relationship hasn't been OK for a while. A request for fashion advice gives them the opportunity to clear the air, and get some clothes off.Motivated by the endless photos of Ben and Martin in matching clothes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still deeply uncomfortable about FreeBatch. I had concerns when Martin was with Amanda, and I'm still concerned now Ben is with Sophie.
> 
> But relationships come in all flavours, and it's not cheating if everyone's OK with it.

Martin glanced at his mobile screen as it vibrated on the coffee table.

 _BC_ \- Simple, discrete, and yet perfectly clear who was on the other end of the line. Martin’s eyebrows rose a fraction. He’d only seen his co-star once since they finished season 4. Ben had ducked the wrap party, claiming the need for an early night, and bed time stories for his son Christopher.

Martin suspected the truth was more complicated. There was no doubt that Ben prioritised his family, as he should, and that time was at a premium for him these days. But there’d been something forced in the farewell smile he’d given the crew. Something that spoke, at that particular moment, of the summoning home being more of an obligation than a blessing.

Well, he thought, he knew all about the constant demands of a new and young family. He an Amanda had argued often over the years about how hard it was to balance life, work, family, and yet trying desperately to carve out just a tiny sliver to retain the semblance of still being your own person.

But enough wool-gathering. He snatched up the phone and hit the answer button before it had a chance to go to voicemail.

“Martin?” The familiar voice never failed to make him shiver, so much lighter than his characters. He forgot, every time, the effect it had.

“Yeah. How’s it hanging?”

As expected, the crude greeting secured a throaty laugh down the line, “Rosy pink and slightly to the left, as usual. You?”

“Still having to get my jeans let out to make room,” he chuckled back, “What has the humble Freeman done to deserve the attention of his magnificence today?”

“I’m hoping to ask a favour, actually. I was after some fashion advice.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right man.”

“I always do,” Ben’s smile was obvious in the tone, “You’ve always had a knack with what looks good on me. Getting me out of my frumpy pastels and t-shirts and into something a bit more edgy.”

Martin laughed, “Now I’m hoping this line isn’t monitored; can you see the papers? Cumberbatch says Freeman got him into edging.”

There’s a tangible silence from the other end of the phone before Ben’s snorty giggle echoes down the line, “I have no doubt you could teach me a thing or two. You’ve got quite the reputation in Soho, now that you’re single.”

That surprised Martin. He thought he’d been discreet since he and Amanda had parted. The last thing he wanted was for the kids to be exposed to stories in tawdry papers, “Really?”

Ben rushed to reassure him, “Only privately, nothing that would get to a journalist’s ears. You know how it is; they feel that I, in particular, need to be kept appraised of your sex life.”

Martin did know. Before Ben settled down with Sophie, it seemed like people sought him out to give sordid details of Benedict’s latest conquests. Who, what, where and sometimes, how many. Amanda had thought it was hysterical, but Martin had been mortified, and if he were honest, a little jealous. On reflection, he wasn’t sure if he’d been jealous of Ben, or his partners. There’d always been… temptation. The way his co-star moved, smiled, the way his hands would touch and linger. Ben was almost unconsciously seductive most of the time, and unbearably erotic when he consciously chose to turn it on.

When Martin was with Amanda, he’d kept a tight lid on it, and now… now there was Sophie. So, he thought, that was that.

“We’ve gotten off track,” Martin redirected the conversation, “we were talking about putting clothes on, not taking them off.”

“Quite right. So, your place or mine?”

“That depends. Are you planning on shamelessly raiding my closet?”

There was a pause, then an optimistic, “Yes?”

Martin chuckled again and checked his watch, “Then it’d better be mine. Today? Lunch?”

“15 minutes?” Ben’s voice offered hopefully.

“Jesus, where are you?”

“Across the road at the café,” he offered brightly, “I was sort of betting on you saying yes.”

Martin laughed, walking to his window, through which he could see the familiar silhouette through the café window opposite. Ben turned and waved up at him, sunglasses and grey tweed flat cap doing nothing to disguise him. Martin waved back.

“You idiot. Come up, I’ll put some pants on,” Martin shook his head, fondly.

He could see Benedict push himself to his feet, phone to his ear, “Don’t dress up on my account.”

“It’s probably best that only one of us is naked at a time.”

“Spoilsport.” The call ended with that simple word.

Was Benedict flirting, Martin thought, and if so, why? He couldn’t deny that things had been… odd since Season 3. The easy dynamic of the first 2 seasons had been harder to capture as the years passed. Their lives had changed beyond recognition with Benedict’s rise to fame. There’d been an ugly period around the end of season 2 when Martin had succumb to jealousy, accusing him of selling out, being a whore to the industry, and and other truly awful things. He’d been so envious of his success that he hadn’t seen the price his co-star and friend had been paying. The loss of anonymity, privacy, the impact on his personal life.

Benedict had pulled away, and it had been a long, slow path back to any sort of functioning relationship. And then suddenly, Amanda was in the mix, on the set, getting between their Watson and Holmes, and that had been hard too. It had felt like he was cheating on his partner, in spite of the fact that the scripts had been designed to portray exactly that.

Shrugging off his tracksuit pants, he pulled on a clean pair of jeans and took a few moments to gather up the few cups strewn around the flat, adding to the collection on the sink. Filling the kettle, he gave the kitchen a glance, declaring it fit for visitors before rummaging around in the cupboard and securing a still unopened packet of biscuits. Good enough, he thought.

The Intercom chirped and without checking the screen, he buzzed in his visitor, flicking the latch and holding open the door as Ben took the stairs two at a time.

“I like the new place,” he strode through the door and without ceremony, dumped two suit bags on the sofa, dropping to sit beside them, “you must love being so close to everything.”

This is what Ben did, Martin thought; dominates the room, and dominates the conversation. Martin had seen it the moment he’d walked onto the Sherlock set. It was one of the reasons they worked so well together, because Martin also saw straight through it. Saw that the behaviour was carefully designed to give Benedict some solid ground to stand on. As a shield the star used to protect himself from environments he felt insecure in.

“Tea?” He asked simply, not addressing the questions at all, “It’s great to see you, have a seat, dump your bags anywhere.”

Ben blinked at him, seeming to suddenly realise where he was, and who he was talking to. Some of the careful aloofness fell away and Martin got his first genuine smile from his co-star.

“Sorry. God, it’s good to see you, Martin,” he began afresh, “I always forget how you cut through my bullshit. Tea would be great, thanks.”

He rose to trail after Martin, and watched from the doorway as teabags found their way into cups, and milk was retrieved from the fridge, “But I meant it, this place is nice, it suits you.”

“Thanks,” he pushed the cup into Ben’s hand, “It made sense to leave Amanda with the house. It was always more her style than mine, and it’s the kid’s home.”

“Of course.”

They hadn’t spoken much about the break-up. It seemed wrong to discuss it on set during season 4, when Amanda could walk around the corner at any moment. Instead, Ben had quietly commiserated, and offered support if he ever needed it.

Perhaps that’s what this visit was really about? Ben reaching out a hand of support, remembering what it was like to be the ‘single friend’ around so many that were partnered up.

“It’s alright, really it is,” he reassured him. “We both knew it was coming, and at the end, it suited us both. Amanda was ready to move on, and I think I was grateful when she brought it up. We’d both had… slips. It was better this way.”

Ben’s eyes widened, “Both of you?”

“Yeah, not our proudest moments.”

“They never are," Ben muttered quietly.

“How you and Sophie are going?” He’d heard rumours, but hadn’t had the opportunity to sort fact from fiction. There were as many articles claiming they were on the verge of breakup as there were claiming it was the romance of the century. Ben and Sophie were circumspect enough that either could be true.

Ben shrugged, “It’s… comfortable. We both knew, going in, that we had enough affection for each other to make it work. And it does, it works really well. But I don’t think either of us expected fireworks. We’re both too jaded for that. So we have an… agreement.”

“Should I ask?”

“The kids come first. Kit, and now Hal. Hopefully others too, fingers crossed. For them, and for the world, we’re the textbook couple. But even when we met, neither of us planned on being monogamous, so as long is it stays private, and safe, then there’s no questions asked.”

“Wow.” Martin forced his eyebrows back to a more acceptable height, “That’s… wow. And you’re OK with that?”

“More than OK. I don’t own Soph, any more than she owns me. It’s a partnership, and there’s a lot of love there. We’re just adult enough to know that sometimes, there’s things we need that might end up being somewhere else than in each other’s arms.”

Martin let out a low whistle, and buried his face in his cup while he thought of how to respond.

Ben sat silently, clearly sympathetic to the bombshell he’d dropped, and Martin wondered how many times he’d shared this with his closest friends. It would be essential to have the understanding and acceptance of those he held dear, if only to ensure any public questions could be managed appropriately.

“Well,” he managed finally, “you’ve impressed me again, Cumberbatch. Maybe if Amanda and I had been that pragmatic, we could have made it work.”

“It’s not pragmatism, it’s realism. I’m away from home months of the year and… well,” Ben stopped and seemed unsure whether to go on, “Sophie was never going to be able to meet all my needs… in the bedroom.”

Martin didn't know quite what to say, unsure exactly what Ben meant, so he stayed quiet.

“God, I don’t know how you do this, Freeman,” he huffed out a quiet breath, “ten minutes together and I’m pouring out intimate details. How do you do this? I’ve missed it,” he paused a moment and added, “I’ve missed it a lot.”

It was nice to hear that Ben missed the easy camaraderie they shared in the early days, grieved it as much as he did, “So have I. I’m sorry I fucked it up.”

“Nah, it was both of us. It was probably inevitable. It all happened so quickly, and suddenly I was on the cover of everything. For all it might have appeared I had my shit together, I was running just to keep up. And when I turned around, the people I wanted with me; you, James, Loo, they weren’t there. I’d somehow left you behind. It wasn't what I wanted, and it certainly wasn’t what you deserved. And then we argued, and I didn’t have the time to fix it. So, I’m saying it now, Martin. I’m sorry, forgive me?”

That was it, that was what he’d needed to hear. He’d wondered, he’d hoped, but it turned out that he needed the words. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulder and suddenly they were back in 2010, walking into the Baker Street set for the first time, bright-eyed and both alight with the potential of the series, “Forgiven. Damn, Ben, we should have been smarter than this. Found some time to talk this through. There’s been so many things I wanted to talk to you about. The Hobbit, Fargo, Marvel’s offer. There were so many nights I nearly picked up the phone.”

“I wish you had, I’d have unloaded my own list on you. Can we never do that again, stop talking, I mean? We used to talk all the time.”

“Jesus, I didn't even come to your wedding,” Martin shook his head.

“I thought you were still angry.”

"And I thought you wouldn't want me there.”

They lapsed into silence, as they worked through their thoughts. The tea had gone cold and Martin held out a hand for Ben’s discarded cup, happy to have something to occupy himself as he considered what they’d discussed.

If he was honest, the idea of having Ben back in his life sounded pretty good right now. He knew Ben was back in London more these days, trying to stay close to home for the kids. Maybe there was room for them somewhere in that, he liked the idea of introducing him to some of the smaller theatres he’d found in recent months, maybe introducing him to some of the Indie jazz bands he’d been looking at lately. Maybe come back here afterward for a quiet Whisky, perhaps even –“

“Penny for your thoughts,” Ben’s voice broke through his reverie.

“Just thinking how nice it is to have my best mate back,” Martin found himself grinning foolishly, and Ben returned it.

“That’s good to hear. Now, should I get my gear off?”

The milk slopped over the bench as Martin startled, “Excuse me?”

“Fashion advice,” the laugh rumbled around the room, “that was the original purpose of my visit.”

“Right,” he wiped up the mess, “Right, yes. Bedroom, end of the hall, on your left.”

Still chuckling, Ben collected the 2 suit bags and sauntered down the hall leaving Martin to try and still his shaking hands.

**

“It’s an unusual colour,” Martin brushed the fine wool jacket, “It’s lighter than charcoal, but not really a grey. What made you choose it?”

“The tailor said it went with my eyes,” Ben was unbuttoning his shirt as he replied.

“Everything goes with those eyes, you could be wearing nothing at all, and it would go with your eyes.”

“Interesting fashion choice. Red carpet, bits hanging out, not sure my agent would support your suggestion.”

“It’d certainly get press coverage,” Martin moved to his wardrobe and started pulling out shirts in a rainbow of colours.

“Not sure _coverage_ is the right word… can I try the jade one?” He pointed to where Martin was still tugging down shirts.

“Sure. But I think it’ll wash you out. Put the trousers on too, I need the whole ensemble.”

Without even a blink, Ben flicked the button of his jeans open and with a zip and the sound of denim falling, the man was suddenly in only black boxer briefs in Martin’s bedroom.

Those legs, Martin thought, begging his breath not to catch, those fucking legs. He’d dreamed about those legs. Running, climbing, wrapped around his fucking waist. Ben’s long, lean legs had featured prominently in his fantasies over the years, even more often than those famous eyes.

Another zip and matching dark grey trousers appeared from the bag and, sitting delicately on the edge of the bed, made their way up calves, then thighs, ending up snugly cupping his arse as he stood up again.

“You’ve been running again,” Martin blurted before he could stop himself.

Eyes flicked up, a tiny furrow appearing between his eyes, “Yes. Is it that noticeable?”

“Your legs always get like that when you’ve been putting in the hours.”

Ben smiled, “Whereas your shoulders always show it when you’ve been at the weight bench. It’s a good look for you, by the way.”

Martin blushed, and cursed himself for it, “Thanks. My trainer says it stops my head looking enormous.”

The frown on Ben’s forehead deepened, “Change trainers. There’s nothing wrong with your head. You don’t need that kind of shit creeping in whenever you’re doing a scene. Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“Take your shirt off, Martin. I want to see whether they’re balancing the muscle groups out properly.”

He shrugged and began on his cuffs, “Look at you, personal trainer, Cumberbatch. Marvel’s made you an expert on muscles, has it?”

“Well, you’d know, they put you through the same program.”

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, slipping it off his arms and tossing it to the bed as Ben whistled.

“See, that’s not fair. I worked my arse off for Strange, and yet I’ll never have the definition that you have. How many hours do you put in, 2…3 hours a session?”

“An hour, three times a week,” Martin couldn't resist the urge to preen under Ben’s admiring gaze. Ben might have the advantage in height, but in terms of definition, it came naturally to the shorter man.

Ben shook his head, “bloody unfair. That’s the body I was after.”

“Yours is fine,” before he could second guess himself, he stepped forward and put his hands on Ben’s biceps, turning him slowly around to look at his shoulders, “look at your shoulders,” he ran a hand appraisingly over them, “they’re perfect. Not too overworked. Massive muscles wouldn’t work for you.”

Ben shivered under the touch and leaned into the hand, “Thanks,” he whispered quietly.

Something changed in the room. In spite of the sunlight streaming through the high windows, it seemed somehow intimate, and Martin took a risk.

He moved his hands to Ben’s waist, fingers sitting easily on the narrow bones of his hips, “And you’re lean in the waist. I think they call that ‘the perfect V’ in the tabloids.”

“Do they?” There was a tremble in Ben’s voice.

Martin could feel Ben’s ribs expanding and contracting under his fingers and he thumbed the lowest of the set gently, “perfect,” he murmured.

“Martin?”

“Mmmm?”

“I’m going to turn around now,” there was no doubt, his breathing was ragged.

Ben turned under Martin’s hands, the fair skin sliding under his fingertips until they were facing each other.

"Can I ask you a question?” Martin looked up, meeting Ben’s eyes and trying not to see things there that were just his own fantasy.

“Of course,” there was a fine trembling in Ben’s muscles, that transmitted through Martin’s gentle touch.

“When you said there were needs Sophie couldn’t meet, what did you mean?” He tried to keep the hope from his voice, the vague chance that the fact Ben hadn’t moved away might mean something.

A tiny smile tugged at Ben’s mouth, and Martin wanted to kiss it as it spread, “She’s only one end of a sliding scale. I find myself… more toward the middle.”

Martin was grateful that, although Ben couldn't quite manage to be completely clear, he’d chosen phrasing he’d used before. Phrasing that he knew Martin was familiar. He’d spoken publicly about sexuality being a sliding scale, and it wasn’t a big leap to interpret the meaning from there.

“And,” Martin cleared his throat as his voice broke roughly, “and would you like me to join you… somewhere in the middle.”

“I’d like that very much, if you’re interested.”

“Interested is a very mild word for what I am,” Martin reached to gently tug Ben’s hand to where his cock was already straining against his jeans.

“Fuck,” Ben murmured.

“I’m hoping so… yes.”

“Fashion advice can wait, I think we’ve found a better use for the afternoon,” Ben worked at the button of Martin’s jeans, fingers clumsy with enthusiasm and he finally gave up with a huff and instead tugged at his own trousers, removing the grey wool that had only recently been pulled on.

“Christ,” Martin tore at his own, finally tossing them across the room, “you’re eager.”

“The chance to have you on me? Can you blame me?”

Images of pressing Ben into the bed, the quicksilver eyes and plush mouth beneath his face tore a moan from him and he mumbled, “Bed,” before pushing Benedict backward, delighting when the backs of his knees hit the edge and he tumbled backward.

“Now who’s eager?” he asked with a laugh, wriggling up the bed until he was pressed against the headboard.

“I’m going to fucking _devour_ you,” Martin growled.

Ben shivered and his eyes flickered closed, “Yes, I want that.”

Martin crawled along Ben’s legs on the bed before straddling his lap and sitting heavily on his thighs. In this position, their height difference wasn’t as noticeable and Martin paused briefly, gazing into Ben’s eyes before he glanced down to his lips meaningfully.

At Ben’s shaky nod of approval, Martin brought their lips together, losing himself in the feeling of the soft skin under his own. I tiny lick resulted in a gasp from Ben and as his lips parted, Martin licked the exposed, silky smooth inner edge, tasting and sucking on the skin there.

Both of their breathing had gone to hell now; brief panted gasps between frantic, messy kisses and Martin distantly realised that they’d both begun making overt, desperate thrusts with their hips, instinctively trying to find more friction.

Shifting forward he managed to bring their groins closer together, Ben’s cock pressed against his fabric covered arse, while his own nestled firmly against Ben’s lower abdomen. The moan from Ben was loud and unabashed and made him rut against him again, the feel the head of Ben’s cock thick and hard against his perineum and balls almost unbearably good.

“Fuck, Ben, we need to…” Martin tried to stop his rocking. If he kept this up, he was going to come. He wouldn't even have time to get his pants off at this rate. He pulled his face away, dragging air in through his parted lips, “I want to…”

Ben shook his head, “I’m not going to last, whatever you intend,” he face was pinched in concentration, eyes intense, lips tight, “sorry.”

“You’re…” Martin rutted again, unable to withstand the urge completely, “you’re that close?”

A tight nod, eyes desperate and apologetic, yet still tinged with humour, “What can I say, I love this. I love the feel, the smell. Fuck…” he wriggled again, pressing his own against Martin’s arse again, “the thought of this.

The idea of Benedict, so turned on by Martin sitting in his lap that he was close to the edge was almost too much for him too and he ground against Ben’s solid abs again, “Next time, then. We’ll… next time, OK?”

“Next time,” Ben repeated on a hissed breath, and it was something like a vow between them. A commitment that this wouldn’t be a one time thing. He reached long fingers between the two of them and nimbly slipped them under the waistband of Martin’s underpants, curling them around his cock.

If he hadn’t know how hard Ben was working to hold back, he’d have been embarrassed at the fact that he took barely three strokes before he was coming all over Ben’s hand and stomach. As it was, he shouted his release, shuddering under Ben’s hands as Ben thrust desperately up against him, crying out his name and finally arching up so violently that Martin was lifted from the bed, Ben’s wetness blooming against the crack of his arse.

They sat, breathing against each other as Martin’s vision cleared. Against his ear he heard Ben mumble something, low and intimate.

“Pardon?” He replied, against his lover’s neck.

“Fireworks,” he repeated, “perhaps I’m not too jaded for fireworks, after all.”

Martin chuckled, nosing at the skin of Ben’s neck fondly and licking the skin he found there, “Mulberry.”

“Excuse me?” Ben’s sated voice was slurred and happy, if confused.

“I think you should try the mulberry shirt,” he murmured, and giggled. I think the mulberry will suit you.”

Ben laughed, rich and deep, before tightening his arms around Martin’s torso, “With a silver tie?”

“Of course.”

“Of course.”

 


	2. Edging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Ben get together for another session, and Benedict gets a lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that the FreeBatch fans can come out of the shadows for this.  
> Let's all party in the gutter together.
> 
> I just want to reiterate that the characters in this story bear NO resemblance to the actors with their names. And if anyone EVER shows them this, I will hunt you down, and I WILL SKIN YOU.

Ben closed the door behind him and lay the 2 suit bags on the hall table. He’d gotten home around 10 minutes before, but had sat in the car for a few minutes, reflecting on the afternoon at Martin’s.

His skin still tingled where Martin’s hands had been on him and the feel of unfamiliar underwear, borrowed from Martin to replace his own soiled pair, sat oddly on his hips and arse.

If he were honest, he’d half hoped something would happen between them. He’d long held what he knew damn well was more than fondness for his co-star. But there’d always been a Amanda. Amanda… who didn't share, and made that quite clear to anyone who looked twice at her partner.

It had shocked him to hear that they’d both had affairs outside the relationship, and he suspected it explained the final ending of what had seemed a happy relationship for so long.

“Sophie?” He called and, rather than the answering voice of his wife, he was greeted with a childish squeal, running feet and cries of Daddy as his son Christopher barrelled out of the study door and down the hall toward him.

Lifting the two year old effortlessly, he swung him in a circle as they laughed and giggled together.

“Where’s mummy?”

A chubby pointed finger back the way he’s come indicated Sophie was probably working in their shared study and he settled his son at his waist and made his way toward the doorway.

“Ben.” She greeted him warmly without rising to meet him. In her own arms was Hal, bottle in his mouth and serenely sucking, “I wasn't sure we’d see you home tonight. Have a good day?”

Putting down the squirming toddler, he leaned to kiss her fondly and looked down at his youngest, smiling warmly, “Yeah… Yeah, very good, actually.”

She looked at his face a moment before narrowing her eyes a little and squinting at him thoughtfully, “Hmm, yes, I’d say so. You’re positively glowing. Come on, spill it. Where have you been?”

This is why it worked between them, he thought. She was genuinely interested rather than jealous. She knew the signs of a satiated libido, and now she wanted to know the details, gaining some measure of pleasure secondhand from his.

“Caught up with an old friend, someone we both like.”

“Well that narrows it down,” she eyed him thoughtfully, “Wait! Weren’t you going to ask Martin about that suit?” She covered her mouth with her hand, eyes sparking, “You finally made a move on Martin?”

Ben blushed, “I might have opened the door, but he marched right through it.”

“I want to hear all about it, after the kids are in bed.”

He didn't think he’d ever loved her more.

 

**

 

_Fancy a visitor? – BC_

_Won’t be home until 8pm. Too Late? – MF_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_8 is fine. Will put kids to bed and come over. Sophie says I’m your problem for the night – BC_

_I can think of worse problems to have ;) Let yourself in, key in usual spot – MF_

 

**

 

When Martin finally got home, it was after 9pm and he was virtually shaking with suppressed adrenaline.

From the sound of running water, he assumed Ben had decided to take a shower. He dropped his coat over the back of a chair and noticed a simple white envelope on the coffee table, his name in simple print on the front. Opening it, he pulled out a single sheet of A4 with what he assumed was Sophie’s neat cursive script filling half of one side.

_Martin,_

_Welcome to the family. Please take this as my confirmation that Ben has discussed the change in your relationship with him, and my hearty approval._

_I trust you’ll take care of him, if you know what I mean._

_Enjoy.  
Sophie_

He smiled, oddly touched by the note. He trusted Ben, but he knew from past experience that there was no substitute for confirmation from the other party. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but he’s sure at least one of his dalliances had been under the impression that Amanda was OK with it.

Feeling much better about the evening ahead of them, he shucked off his shoes and padded toward the bathroom at the other end of his flat.

The sound of music covered his approach. He recognised Mirrorball by Elbow, and smiled at the realisation that Ben had clearly been fiddling with his playlist. It warmed him to know that Ben felt enough at home to use the bathroom and take over his music system.

The door between his bedroom and the ensuite stood open and warm, slightly moist air marked the boundary as he stepped from the soft carpet to the polished tiles in front of the shower.

The tall lean silhouette of his visitor was visible through the steamy glass and Martin leaned against the doorframe, just watching as Ben tipped his head back to let the water wash through his hair, lighter now that the most recent dye was giving way to his natural auburn. He bent to pick up the dropped bar of soap at his feet and as he straightened again, he must have caught a glimpse of the man in the doorway because he turned and wiped a clear area in the glass.

“Well, hello there,” his voice echoed off the hard surfaces, making it richer and more sultry than it normally was, “enjoying the view?”

“Very much,” Martin crossed his arms, “making yourself at home?”

“It seemed… prudent to have a bit of a wash.”

“Thoughtful,” Martin nodded, “I got Sophie’s note.”

“She thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Smart woman you have there.”

“I know. You wouldn’t believe what she said when I told her about the other day.”

Martin blushed. He hadn’t expected Ben to share the details of their first time, but he supposed it shouldn’t have surprised him, “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not,” Ben replied, chuckling as he turned off the water, “It wasn’t terribly complimentary regarding our stamina.”

“Jesus, Ben. You could at least talk me up,” Martin laughed in spite of his embarrassment.

“She can spot me lying a mile away. If you want Sophie to think you’re a sex God, you’ll need to earn it,” He pushed open the door of the shower and stepped out, naked and dripping wet and Martin’s breath caught in his throat.

“I’ll do my best,” he murmured, voice already rough.

He wondered how Ben managed to stay so fair skinned. He did his fair share of filming on location, so it wasn’t as if he stayed out of the sun. But in spite of it, his skin was the colour of clotted cream, tinged with pink with the heat of the shower. Breaking the broad expanse of his pale torso, short hairs, almost matching those on his head scattered across his chest and narrowed to a line leading down his abdomen before spreading again to a nest at his groin.

Dusky rose and a little to the left… The words came back to him from the other day. It was a perfect description for what awaited him within that thatch of hair. Ben’s cock was already firm, although not completely erect, and it pointed upward, with a gentle lean toward his left hipbone. It looked… delicious.

“One of us is wearing too many clothes,” Ben reached for a towel and rubbed it briskly across his hair, brushing the waves away from his eyes.

“I’m inclined to agree. Just let me have a quick wash and I’ll join you in the bedroom.”

Ben nodded and moved toward him, pausing to slip damp arms around Martin’s chest, hugging the shorter man to him and tucking his wet face against his neck for a long lick up his neck.

Martin laughed, “You’re just using me to dry yourself off, aren’t you?” He hugged him back, feeling the warm water penetrate his shirt and revelling in the feel of how Ben’s heat warmed him from head to toe.

“Perhaps,” his voice was muffled as he continued to lave slick lines to Martin’s ear, “perhaps I’m just not sure that I want you tasting any different than you do right now.”

“Jesus, Ben,” Martin gasped as Ben ground against him, and Martin suddenly agreed about his comment regarding the number of clothes he was wearing.

“You smell fantastic,” he rumbled, pressing in harder, his cock now like a rock against Martin's shirt.

“Fuck it, get back in the shower,” Martin growled, the idea of slick skin against each other too much to resist.

Ben grinned and pulled at Martin’s shirt while he shed his jeans, tugging his underpants down with them, “No argument from me.”

“Get back in there, get the water on,” Martin pushed at him with impatient hands, crowding him into the small cubicle and pulling the door closed behind them.

“You know sex in the shower is overrated, “Ben murmured, running hands up Martin’s slippery chest, spreading the now running water, “it’s never like it is in the movies.”

“Don’t care,” Martin mumbled, “Just need to touch you for a bit, get your skin next to mine. Christ, look at you. I had no fucking idea you’d be so… responsive.”

Ben was breathing hard, pupils dilated and hands trembling on Martin’s shoulders, “Always been this way, I love being touched. And you… you’re confident, it shows. God, like that, please.”

Martin had one firm hand on the nape of Ben’s neck, holding his head in place while he kissed a path from neck to nipple and back. The other had dropped to run fingers through the wiry hair at his crotch before circling and unashamedly pulling on Ben’s cock. He was forced to press up on the balls of his feet to reach any higher than the corner of Ben’s jaw, and he growled as he tugged his head down further, fingers slipping amongst sopping curls and pulling, just a bit.

“Oh God,” Ben mumbled, his knees giving way slightly before he recovered his balance, “We need to move… get to a bed, I can’t take this.”

Martin chuckled, low and filthy, and when he pulled away the satisfied smirk was matched by dark eyes, “Yes you can, Cumberbatch. You’ll take everything. You’re mine now, and I think I remember you demanding a lesson in edging.”

Ben moaned low in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut, “Fuck, I thought you were joking. I’ve never… I’ve heard… Yes, teach me, show me.”

Martin stepped back in and resumed the confident stroke on Ben’s erection, “I’ll have you coming so hard, you’ll see stars, mate.” He leaned up, lips brushing against the shell of his ear, “Fucking stars!”

Ben’s knees really did give out at that, and he stumbled backward, large hands splaying to try and find purchase on the glossy tiles and hissing as his arse hit the cold wall of the shower. Martin pushed closer again, one arm around Ben’s waist to help support him.

“C’mon,” Martin whispered in his ear, “let’s get horizontal before one of us breaks a leg.” He pushed the shower door open behind him and drew Ben toward him and out from under the water, flicking the taps off as he did so. He grabbed some fluffy towels from the shelves in the corner and without making much effort to dry them, guided them both through to the bedroom.

Ben allowed himself to be led, hands in Martin’s as if he couldn’t stand the idea of losing contact for even a moment. His eyes wandered across Martin’s chest, shoulders, skirted down to where the lighter hair did little to hide Martin’s no inconsiderable erection, thick and proud against his stomach. He closed his eyes and drew in a long steadying breath.

“I’m forty fucking years old, Martin. This is ridiculous.” Ben smiled wryly, “I never have problems with staying power. I feel like I’m on a hair trigger.”

“I’m not complaining, it’s fucking hot, Ben. You and I have always worked well together, so it’s no surprise we’re on the same page here too. Come on, lay down, you gorgeous thing.”

Ben acquiesced, taking only a moment to towel the worst of the water from his back before sliding up the bed to lay his dark hair wetly on the pillow. He reached up his arms to beckon Martin to join him.

Martin took a long look at Ben, sprawled wantonly on his bed and shook his head in disbelief, “Fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, “unbelievable.”

Their mouths met more gently than before, and Martin settled in the circle of his arms and thighs. He could fee Ben’s erection pressing determinedly against his thigh, but there were things to discuss before he got back to that end of things.

“Lesson one,” Martin murmured against his lips, “No touching your own cock tonight, that’s mine now.”

“Mmmmmm,” Ben rutted against his leg in response.

“Lesson two,” he chuckled, “we need a scale, and I need you to use it. If I push you too far, it’ll all be over, and that’ll spoil all the fun. So…” he paused for another long slow snog, “if we consider nine to be fucking hell, I’m going to come, then I want you to tell me when you hit eight. Can you do that?”

“MmmHmm,” Ben nodded, eyes glazed and blissful, “You realise I’m already at a six?”

Another fond smile, “Yeah, six is a nice cruising speed. Six looks lovely on you. Last lesson, you’re gonna need a safe word. You’re gonna want to come, and if I do this right, you’ll be begging me before we’re finished. But I need to know when you’ve had enough, because after that, it’s just cruel and I never,” a kiss to his lips, “never,” a quick dip to suck at a peaked nipple, “ever want to be cruel to you.”

“Battersea,” mumbled Ben, arching as Martin tongued at his chest, “use Battersea.”

“Ok, that’s it.” He paused, “No, wait, one last thing,” a fault blush rose on his cheeks, “There’s a good chance that at some point, I’m gonna want to come too. We should have discussed this last time, but it got away from me. So…” he paused, “condoms, OK?”

Ben nodded, no more needed to be said. They’d both admitted to being less than faithful in the past, so it wasn’t worth the risk.

“Anything else, no-go areas? Stop it,” Martin swatted the hand that was roaming toward his cock, “This is important.”

“Martin,” Ben gazed down at him, the first signs of frustration clear in his eyes behind the clear want, “How long have we known each other? If there’s a problem, I’ll tell you, can we get on with it?”

“Yeah, OK…” he sat up, straddling Ben’s thighs, “OK, point made.”

“Good, because I’ve slipped to a completely unacceptable level five,” Ben wriggled against Martin’s thigh by way of reinforcing his point.

“We can’t have that, can we? Hang on a sec.” Without further warning, Martin shimmied down Ben’s body to his neglected cock, “Oh, look at the poor thing, all alone down here,” he breathed warmly on it, and Ben shivered as he tore the condom packet open and rolled it down his shaft, “let’s see if we can remedy that.”

Ben’s hips lifted slightly and Martin rewarded the enthusiasm with a soft kiss as it rose to meet his mouth, before following it down and licking a long strip from root to tip.

“Oh my God,” Ben’s hushed response came from the head of the bed, “Back to a six.”

“That was easy, let’s see if we can do better, shall we?” He dove down, licking around the crown as Ben began to tremble, pointing his tongue and worrying gently at his frenulum, testing out what his lover enjoyed.

“Six… six…” a grunt, “seven… fuck,” Ben began to fist the sheets at either side of himself.

Martin eased off, returning to licking long lines up and then down as Ben panted above him, muttering, “six.”

“Good, that’s good, focus on the numbers, it’ll help,” Martin paused at the top of his cock, swirling his tongue gently down before delicately closing his lips over the top.

“Six…. And a half,” Ben moaned, “… and a half.”

Martin shifted his hips, bringing his own cock into alignment with Ben’s calf. Every time Ben spoke, that deep rumbling voice, lost in pleasure, shot straight to his groin. He thought, rather desperately, that he was sitting around six and a half himself, and Ben hadn’t even touched him.

“Martin,” Ben moaned, “Oh fuck… Martin.”

Martin continued his slow assault, exchanging bobbing for slow leisurely sucks whenever Ben whimpered a higher count. He brought up a hand to gently nudge one of Ben’s balls, sliding behind to brush at his perineum, wondering what effect that would have.

“Fuck!” Ben arched suddenly, “Eight… Jesus, stop, eight… Eight!”

Martin stilled immediately, the desperation in Ben’s voice clear and urgent. His mouth, still on Ben’s cock, froze in place, tongue still against the roof of his mouth as he resisted the urge to moan. He’d had no idea how irresistible Ben would be on the edge of climax. He found himself tempted to throw all his intentions to the wind and just get them both off.

With infinite slowness, he eased off, lifting his lips away to look up the long line of Ben’s body at where he lay panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Sorry,” Ben panted, “Sorry… that was… God.”

“All good,” Martin found himself desperate to touch himself, his cock screaming at him for some attention, but he pushed the desire down. Instead, he wiped away the sweat that had begun to bead on his forehead and crawled up beside his lover, “So that’s a hot spot… yeah?”

“Apparently so,” Ben huffed out a shaky laugh, “I think it was the idea, the suggestion, of where you might be heading. I was suddenly imagining you fingering me.”

“Your imagination is a wonderful thing,” Martin kissed him hard, “and I can see it’s going to be trouble. How are you now?”

“Better, back to a seven again, can we try some more?” he was almost vibrating with tension.

“Sure, Would you mind if…” Martin trailed off, hesitant about asking.

“What?”

“I’m getting a bit… frantic if I’m honest. It’ll be easier for me to concentrate on you if I’m not fighting with my own cock.”

Ben’s eyes glazed over a little and he murmured, “Oh, yes, please.”

Martin didn’t need to ask if he was sure, Ben was already pushing up on his elbows, looking questioningly at him before staring fixedly down at his cock.

“Show me what you like,” he rumbled like liquid chocolate.

“You mean?”

“Get yourself off, I want to watch you.”

“God, Ben. I’ve never…” There was something confronting about the idea of masturbating in front of another man. The idea that Ben would be sitting there, watching him, watching him jerk off, getting off on Martin’s pleasure. OK, he thought as his cock gave a violent twitch at the thought, maybe he was more onboard with this than he’d thought.

“Oh, sorry, if you don’t want –“

Martin sat back on his heels, presenting himself fully to Ben’s gaze, wrapping his hand around himself and giving a couple of brisk strokes, before hurriedly ripping open a condom packet and rolling it on.

“Oh… OK,” Ben trailed off, staring at him.

Martin was already ridiculously aroused, and the knowledge that those pale, intelligent eyes were watching his every move wasn’t diminishing his state in the slightest, “Talk to me,” he murmured.

“What do you want me to –“

“Don’t care,” Martin blurted, “You could recite the numbers of fucking Pi in that voice and it’d be wank material.” He brought his other hand up to fondle his own balls, rocking his hips gently as he palmed himself.

Ben was silent for a moment, and Martin thought he’d decided to stay that way until he sighed and began.

“I struggled during Season 4,” he murmured, low and intimate, “I knew you were single, and I wanted you. I always have.”

Martin shifted his grip, adding a twist at the end that stimulated his frenulum just the way he liked.

“You were so distant, and all I wanted to do was touch you. Then… that scene at the end of the second ep. Jesus, those were real tears in your eyes, and I knew what you were thinking, that you were channeling all of the shit that had happened with you and Amanda.”

Ben went quiet, and Martin wondered if he was second guessing the mention of Amanda’s name, but he continued after a breath.

“And then the script had Sherlock hold John, and you stepped into my arms and… Fuck, Martin, I just wanted to hold you, turn it into a real hug, but I was hard in my trousers, and I couldn't let you know I was getting off on being allowed to touch you.”

Martin increased his pace, getting off on the fact that Ben had been hard for him on set, that they’d stood inches apart with Ben’s cock virtually brushing his own. He moaned, “Close…”

“I wanted to, I wanted to pull you to me, hold you properly, turn the touch on your head to a kiss and to hell with the fucking censors. Maybe if you’d known, if you’d felt me then, maybe you’d have wanted it too.”

He had wanted it, he’d channelled all that frustration into the tears of that scene, he’d wanted it, and he’d been hard too. They could have… they could… The tide of ecstasy rose in him, rushing from the tight tingle in his balls to coalesce and burst from his cock, filling the condom as he froze and arched tight on the bed. He shuddered as the condom swelled again with a second jet.

“Fuck, Martin… Fuck… yes, look at you,” Ben’s voice was tight and when he opened his eyes, he saw that the man had a firm grip around the base of his cock, stilling his own threatening orgasm.

Martin fell forward, bracing himself with one arm on the bed beside Ben, thighs trembling and vision blurred, “Oh my God, that was…”

“Eight…” Ben whimpered brokenly, “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It was pretty damned good for me too.” He looked at the pinched skin at the corners of Ben’s eyes, “You done? It’s OK if you want to safe word. I could get you off,” he glanced down at the grip Ben still had on his cock.

“No,” he said, the firmness returning to his voice, “I want to do this. One more, then I want to come.”

“One more. If you can manage that, I want you to fuck me, how’s that for motivation?”

The silence that greeted the statement was laden with meaning, “You’re serious?” Ben asked finally.

“You think you’re the only one that loves cock? Think again lover. I’ll admit, I expected to be topping tonight, but… seemed a shame to waste that,” he gestured at Ben’s now furious red cock. “You’ve topped before, yeah?”

“Yes. I’m good either way. So,” he paused again, “we’re doing this, then?”

“Yep,” Martin popped the word, “one more round for you, which can include prepping me, and then…”

“Fireworks,” Ben chuckled.


End file.
